


Resurrect The Heavens

by swamprabbit (1432)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Frottage, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Non-Penetrative Sex, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 14:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1432/pseuds/swamprabbit
Summary: “I suspect this will be our last evening together, dear boy.”There’s a moment of silence and Crowley is very acutely aware that Aziraphale is now stroking his fingers across his wrist. It goes on like that until the fires of excitement have died into nothing but warm embers.He looks up at Crowley, smiling very gently. “And just when you’d slowed down enough for me to catch up to you.”All the air is sucked like a vacuum from Crowley’s lungs.





	Resurrect The Heavens

The ride up the lift is incredibly slow. Butterflies occupy the space where Crowley’s stomach might go and it’s not just gravity at play. Aziraphale sways gently as they ascend and he scoots closer until they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. They’d touched like this the whole bus ride to London; Aziraphale had pressed the back of his hand against Crowley’s and Crowley spread his legs until their knees bumped. 

On the bus it was comforting and it is now too, but there’s something different. Crowley sees it in the way that Aziraphale’s looking over, his lips pressed together. 

A ding sounds and the lift shutters to a halt. Crowley is the first out, leading the way, with Aziraphale following close behind. His front door opens before he tries the knob, without a key, without even a wave of a hand.

Crowley tries to keep from rattling out of his body. 

As they make their way through the foyer, Crowley peeks over his shoulder and catches Aziraphale eyeing the statue there. It’s a beautiful thing he’d picked up a couple hundred years back. He'd never thought about what Aziraphale might think of it though.

He rattles a little harder. 

“Would you like a drink?”

Behind him, he can hear Aziraphale hurrying to catch up to him in the sitting room. He answers with a hum. Crowley’s already scouring his small collection of wines, taking note of the year and the type and considering Aziraphale’s favorites. 

He settles on a 1962 Bordeaux blend. The cork makes a satisfying pop and he snags a pair of glasses from the cabinet next to it. And to cut down his jitters he downs a half filled glass before turning back for Aziraphale.

Crowley rounds the corner of the island, holding the bottle in one hand and the glasses in the other. He reaches for the light switch.

“Let there be light,” he says as the switch flips up. His voice is flat, but he hopes it would tickle Aziraphale in a way.

It doesn’t. The angel doesn’t so much as twitch the corners of his mouth to acknowledge the joke. He’s busy undoing the buttons of his vest, though, and his hands are shaking visibly. Crowley doesn’t mention it as he saunters over, sits both the glasses down on their ends. 

He’s watching though. Aziraphale shrugs the vest from his shoulders and folds it in half, drapes it across the back of the sofa and starts on his bowtie. His fingers tremble, but they’re deft and practiced at this. It hangs loose around his neck and Crowley downs the glass of wine he’s holding, haphazardly pours another one.

Aziraphale seems fit to drink now and he sits down primly, his eyes cast down at the wine. 

“Have a drink, angel.”

“What do you think will become of us?” He’s not really looking at the glass anymore, but looking through it. Crowley pushes it closer to him and that prompts him to grab it. 

Crowley stalls by taking his time to remove his glasses and fold them neatly. “Not for me to decide. But I doubt it’ll be pretty.”

He wants to get properly drunk. And maybe he’ll sleep for another century. Or, at least, until they come and dispose of him. 

They drink quietly.

“So what’s the sculpture?” 

Crowley swallows his wine hurriedly, just so he doesn't choke on it.

He hadn’t thought of the implications when he bought it all that time ago, but now with Aziraphale here in his flat, he couldn’t run from it. There was something beautiful in it, more beautiful than just a demon triumphing over an angel, something raw. If he were a human this would be a lot easier to explain away. 

He’s a demon though.

So he says, “It’s the battle of good and evil.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not so sure it would be that simple.” Aziraphale has this little smile on his face. His body uncoils and he falls back into the cushions of the couch to drink down the last of his wine. He holds the empty glass out between them. 

Crowley follows him back, topping them off with a little more. They aren’t nearly drink enough yet, but Crowley finds himself sitting with his knees spread wide enough to bump Aziraphale’s. Their shoulders brush and it’s like the bus ride all over again. But it’s comfortable and maybe Aziraphale leans into it and it calms some wild streak of anxiety in Crowley. 

Aziraphale’s hand comes down and his soft fingers curl around Crowley’s wrist, the pad of one finger over his pulse. Crowley looks down at his hand and then up at his face, but Aziraphale isn’t looking at him. “I suspect this will be our last evening together, dear boy.” 

There’s a moment of silence and Crowley is very acutely aware that Aziraphale is now stroking his fingers across his wrist. It goes on like that until the fires of excitement have died into nothing but warm embers. 

He looks up at Crowley, smiling very gently. “And just when you’d slowed down enough for me to catch up to you.”

All the air is sucked like a vacuum from Crowley’s lungs. His mouth is hanging open and he should probably close it, he thinks. Aziraphale is amused anyway, still smiling. 

“Really, Crowley, it was bound to happen one day that we’re on the same page.” Aziraphale’s cheeks look positively flushed and he pats the back of Crowley’s hand.

And Crowley doesn’t mean to jump him. He really hadn’t intended that. But he turns to face Aziraphale, reaches over with his empty hand and guides him closer until their mouths can touch. 

Aziraphale makes a soft, confused little noise into Crowley’s mouth, but stays right where he is. The kiss is chaste and gentle, two mouths slotted together. It's the best feeling Crowley has ever experienced, even with as human as it may be, it devours him whole. And he lets it take him. He can hardly bear to part from the angel’s sweet, delicate mouth. 

The same feeling must have caught Aziraphale as well because he raises his soft hand up and touches Crowley so tenderly he almost breaks apart right there.[1] His palm slides across Crowley’s cheek and settles on the sharp jut of his jaw. Aziraphale turns his head and they break for but a second, then go back in for another kiss and another and another. 

Crowley is reeling. From the hand holding him like he might blow away and the kiss, the soft slide of Aziraphale mouth against his, and just the ghost of Aziraphale’s tongue against his lips. He can barely think clearly enough to miracle their glasses from their hands to the table. His own hand comes up to touch Aziraphale’s face, cups his palm against an angelically soft cheek. 

They part and they’ve both got to catch their breath.

“I’ve waited so long for you, angel.”

“I’m here now,” he says like a promise and Crowley is rapidly losing control of his emotions. Try as he might, he knows he can’t hide how shiny his eyes are becoming. 

Aziraphale lowers his hand from Crowley’s face and brings it to the collar of his own pristinely white button down. He undoes one button, then slides his fingers down to the next. With he own eyes shining, he doesn’t look away from Crowley for a single second; he _ wants _Crowley to see his emotions. 

“This may be our last evening together,” he repeats. He’s four or so buttons down now. The sides of the shirt are already parting and revealing little flashes of the pink skin underneath. He leaves the bottom few buttons.

Crowley can barely breathe. The thought of never again seeing Aziraphale alone burns somewhere deep inside. But the thought of never seeing him again and not having known him even once burns hotter.

So he reaches out for Aziraphale and finishes opening the last of the buttons. Aziraphale rolls his shoulders and pulls the shirt part way off, waiting for Crowley's reaction. Crowley can only react in one way, though, and that's to lay both hands on Aziraphale's soft waist and just feel his skin. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chides, squirming where he sits. His lips are pursed together and Crowley can't stop himself from pulling Aziraphale in and kissing him again. 

Aziraphale sighs into his mouth and places his own hands on Crowley's thighs. There's happiness just exuding from his body. It's in the way he squeezes Crowley's thighs and hums, how he can barely keep the smile out of the kiss. 

The kiss is short circuiting Crowley's brain, yet he can't stop thinking about how soft Aziraphale is. He feels up Aziraphale's torso, stops at his chest to rubs his thumbs round each nipple. They harden and Aziraphale breaks from the kiss to moan and pant into Crowley's mouth.

“You're gorgeous, angel,” he confesses, in a hushed tone, but voice loaded with something unnamable.[2]

“Enough of that.” But there's color in his plump, smiling cheeks.

It's Aziraphale's turn to do the touching and he looks quite pleased about it. He lifts the scarf up Crowley’s neck, his fingertips dragging up the sensitive skin. Crowley shivers and his eyes fall shut. 

“Alright?” 

“Mmm, yeah,” he says, opening his eyes again. 

Aziraphale's hands are hesitating above the buttons of Crowley's vest, so he takes Aziraphale’s hands and guides them closer. The press of his fingers is warm, soft, and steady. He lingers for a moment and then tends the buttons, reaches inside to feel Crowley’s slim waist.

Crowley twists to let the vest down his arms and Aziraphale’s hands tighten, feel him as he moves.

“Exquisite,” he breathes, meeting Crowley’s eyes with his own seductive look. He still smiles gently at Crowley, even while working Crowley’s black shirt untucked and pushing his hands underneath. There’s no hesitation in him pulling it up Crowley’s torso, revealing Crowley to his eyes again for the first time in centuries. 

This time it’s very different than when they’d bathed together in Rome or visited the hot springs in Japan. No, it’s very different and Aziraphale notes with rapt interest the differences in their bodies. Where Crowley is slim and sharp, Aziraphale is soft and round, hairless save for what’s on his head. He presses his palm to Crowley’s sternum, feels the scratch of the dark red hair that’s there. 

Crowley hopes that he’s pleased with what he’s found, he’s altered his corporation through the centuries, but he’s never been looked at in such a way before.[3]

“Kiss me again, Crowley.” 

It’s so tender that Crowley’s heart nearly breaks. He takes his angel’s face in one hand and lays the other on his chest, pulls him in for a kiss; gentle at first and then consuming, tongues touching tentatively, then messily. They move closer, bare chests touching. Without breaking the kiss, Crowley stands up and folds a knee under himself, sits atop it so he can press himself against Aziraphale. 

Crowley caresses him sweetly, holds a hand where a heart might beat should they actually need one. Aziraphale whimpers into his mouth, places one hand at his waist and another on the back of his shoulder. Need rolls off him in waves and it fuels Crowley’s own, fans the fire that’s burning under his skin so much hotter than hellfire. 

They’re both panting when they separate. Crowley presses a chaste kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek and then follows the taste of him down to the crook of his jaw and delicate skin of his throat. He runs his tongue over the flesh there, sets his teeth into it just enough to feel it and he feels the effect it has on his angel. Aziraphale curls his hand up around the back of Crowley's head, holds him there, whispering his name like a prayer. _ Crowley, oh, Crowley, please. _

“Anything,” he hisses. It’s a promise. Aziraphale moans as if it had been another kiss to his skin.

Yet he says nothing more, just guides Crowley’s hands down to the waistline of his trousers. Crowley unfastens them, still kissing him, mouth open and wet down the line of his collarbone. 

“Stand up, angel.” He sits up to look into Aziraphale’s eyes. He finds so much trust there. So much trust for a demon, a hereditary enemy, someone who could very well turn and break him. Aziraphale surely knows better. 

Yet he stands, waits for Crowley to make his move. And Crowley is held in his gaze, doesn’t look away when he pulls Aziraphale’s fly down. Aziraphale reaches to hold his jaw, strokes his cheek. The touch is soft and innocent, something almost unfitting when compared to the erection that Crowley reveals. 

Some noise finds its way out into the open and Aziraphale’s hand drifts lower to hold onto his shoulder. Crowley can’t stop himself, he hungers to taste more. He leans in and kisses Aziraphale’s belly, uses the tip of his tongue to tease up Aziraphale’s side until he squirms away. Laughter bubbles out him and it warms Crowley, has him flashing a smile up. 

Crowley guides Aziraphale down into his lap, holding his angel so tightly by the waist. He soaks in the sight, looks up and down. Aziraphale’s flushed from ears to chest, his nipples hardened and begging to be touched and teased more, and his erection twitches between their bodies. 

Aziraphale presses his mouth just under Crowley’s hairline. “You can touch, you know.”

Once again Crowley’s nervous, his hands jerking where they rest on Aziraphale’s flesh. After so many years of anticipation and quiet resignation, he worries. His hands come up and hover. 

Aziraphale seems to have no such qualms, he takes Crowley’s hands and brings them down until they’re just barely touching his cock. A whisper of a touch. 

“Touch,” he reiterates, his lips still pressed against Crowley’s skin. He mimics the kisses that Crowley had given him earlier, working from the jaw down. 

Crowley wraps a hand firmly around Aziraphale’s cock and Aziraphale cries out against his shoulder, clearly sensitive. The flesh is as soft as velvet, hot in Crowley’s hand, pulsing and jerking. He moves his hand slowly, pushing the foreskin up, and sliding his hand to close over the tip. Aziraphale whimpers, gripping his shoulders tighter.

“Like this, dear angel?”

“Yes, Crowley.” His voice wobbles in the sweetest of ways. “But do you have a bed?”

Given that Aziraphale seems to be getting on just fine here in Crowley’s lap with his erection in Crowley’s hand, he’s confused. “A bed?” 

“I should like to fall into a deep slumber after having known you.”

Crowley can't stop the moan that starts in the sitting room and ends in his bedroom. He lays his angel out on his black silk sheets and Aziraphale writhes on them, splays his hands out and feels the material. A smile is on his lips as he sighs and he sits up to coax Crowley into his embrace again, kissing him. 

Without ever saying a word, Aziraphale lets Crowley know that it is his turn to be kissed and licked and tasted. Chaste kisses become open mouthed and hot, wearing at Crowley’s sanity. He is deliberate when he presses them into Crowley’s body, his tongue sliding across heated skin and moaning as if he were a delectable delicacy. 

And Crowley lets him continue, trying not to sound as thoroughly taken apart as he really is. He lets Aziraphale press him down, only raises his hand to touch the curls on the back of Aziraphale’s head. He _ has _ to hold Aziraphale somehow, especially as Aziraphale is laying kisses to each of his ribs. The kisses are burned into Crowley’s skin, Aziraphlae’s mouth open, his tongue reaching out and touching, tasting. His hands slide up Crowley’s long, slim legs, spreading them open, squeezing the soft insides of his thighs. 

Crowley _ keens, _ embarrassingly, he moans. Even more than that, his hands grab into the sheets, his cheeks rouged with pleasure. 

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale whispers—his lips are under just under Crowley’s belly button. “More of that, darling.”

He draws a line with his tongue down along the line of hair that leads into Crowley’s trousers, teases the hem with his fingers. 

“Are you equipped for this?”

That has Crowley pausing. He isn't equipped for this, hadn't thought of it what with Aziraphale being nude. He isn't sure what Aziraphale may like, but he certainly won't ask. After a moment or two, he's got an erection of his own throbbing between his thighs, strangled by his jeans. 

Aziraphale gropes between his legs and Crowley nearly discorporates right there. 

“This alright,” he asks and he hopes. 

“Oh, yes. It's quite alright.” Aziraphale deftly unbuckles Crowley's belt, leaves it hanging in the loops to open Crowley's trousers. He pulls the jeans down to Crowley’s knees, his hands ghosting up until they can wrap around Crowley’s brand new cock. 

Crowley lets out a very undignified shriek, but he pushes his hips toward the touch. 

Shy hands mimic his earlier touch, fist coming up and closing over the tip. Pleasure ripples out through Crowley’s body. He’s sure he’s never known anything in the universe sweeter than this. Aziraphale overwhelms him, moves faster and faster, his other hand exploring the area of Crowley’s thighs that are visible.

“Angel! Angel, come up here.”

He obeys, without slowing, without even faltering. Crowley winds an arm around his waist and tugs him down, kisses him with tongue flicking into his mouth. Ever the snake, Crowley writhes against Aziraphale until he’s pulling his hand out from between them to grab hold of Crowley’s wiggly hips. 

Then he aligns their bodies, places his own over Crowley’s just so and pushes down, so that their erections can slide against one another. The kissing becomes messy, their lips having grown lazy with pleasure and their tongues laving together. Aziraphale is still holding on so tightly to Crowley’s hip, but he doesn’t mind, wouldn’t even mind if it left bruises. A keepsake, something to remember when Aziraphale is gone. 

Aziraphale’s lips hover just above Crowley’s, close enough that they brush with each thrust. “My dear, you feel lovely.”

In a moment of trembling weakness, Crowley sobs, lifting his head to kiss his angel’s lips again. He tastes sweet and it warms Crowley even though Aziraphale doesn’t kiss back. Or rather, can’t kiss back.

He looks nearly drunk; his eyes are heavy and dark and his jaw slack, his brow tensed. Yet his hand is leaving Crowley’s hip, coming up to rub over his nipples and then pinch them. Crowley opens his mouth in a wide gape, fighting against the keen that’s welling up in his throat and threatening to embarrass him again. 

His traitorous chest pushes the sound out as a groan. Aziraphale turns him tighter and tighter, Crowley’s nipple the gauge he's using. He's nearly up to eleven.

Aziraphale presses his body close again. Their earthly flesh is hot and sticky with sweat, but so soft like silk. 

The tip of Aziraphale's tongue slides over Crowley’s neck, drawing shivers into Crowley’s body.

“Oh, fuck, Aziraphale,” he cries, thrusting his hands out to hold Aziraphale. At first it’s Aziraphale's thighs, squeezing into the flesh until his nails press into it and leave vicious marks, then his buttocks just to feel him as he moves. Aziraphale whines into his neck, mimicking the touch, but softer. There won’t be a mark on Crowley’s body later, just ghosts of the purest of touches.

He kisses down the side of Crowley’s neck, moaning as he goes. “Oh, Crowley. Please, don't stop, don't stop.” 

So Crowley doesn’t stop, leaves one hand at his buttocks and brings the other up over his back, scratches the skin there, softly now. He caresses the strength of Aziraphale’s shoulder, feels the strain in it from holding himself up.

“Angel, 'Ziraphale.” He so desperately wants to say more to let Aziraphale know that he's going to come soon. But his mind is gone and his cock is so hard it nearly hurts and Aziraphale is making those sweet little sounds.

He comes and he surges up against Aziraphale, groaning and growling like a wild animal, shaking and shivering. Aziraphale makes some new noise, a weak noise. It just drives Crowley's orgasm on harder, his nerves set aflame with some kind of holy fire. 

Satisfaction seeps into his bones, into all that he is. He's pleased, his body wrung out, but Aziraphale is still very hard and maybe covered with his release now.

He smiles like a snake.

He reaches between them, rubbing his hand down Aziraphale's belly, until he can wrap his fingers around Aziraphale's cock. The softest sound parts Aziraphale's lips. His lashes flutter like wings. Crowley is mad with love and affection, wants to commit his every move to memory.

With his eyes still closed and mouth still open, Aziraphale begins to _ fuck _ Crowley’s fist. He touches Crowley’s body with his own hands. It's fleeting, desperate, fingers curled around Crowley’s hip and then skittering up his side, fingertips tracing his nipples. Crowley is just as needy for the touch and still sensitive.

Aziraphale dips his head to kiss Crowley, to suck on his lips, and then he comes. Crowley hears his angel singing his name and feels a twisted pride rise up in his chest that not even the most perfect, corrupt temptation could've birthed.

They lay there, basking in their ecstasy, evidence of it on their skin. Aziraphale lies down beside Crowley, his front pressed against Crowley’s side. Between their sweaty bodies, they hold hands, tightly like they might be pulled apart any moment. Both of them have shiny eyes, but neither says anything about it. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice small. The mess on their skin vanishes and Crowley rolls to face him. [4] “You know… I love you rather dearly.”

“I know, angel—Aziraphale.” He pauses for an almost unacceptable amount of time. “And I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1Which he justifies in his own mind as exhaustion and, no, he won’t elaborate on the sleeping patterns of celestial beings. [return]
> 
> 2That's a lie, it's most definitely, wholeheartedly, true love.[return]
> 
> 3Or, at least, he’s never been looked at this way and gone through with any lecherous ideas that may or may not have been aroused.[return]
> 
> 4Yet both can still feel the sticky, hot lines of pleasure left behind.[return]


End file.
